The Dangers Of Boredom
by Chaosti
Summary: Ever wonder what would happen if our favorite CIA Wild Bunch did NOT have a world crisis to prevent? PG13 for multilingual strong language.
1. Ah, the power of cheese!

A/N: Ok you guys. I've been a reviewer on ff.net for like two years now. I think I've reviewed every single Alias, Buffy, Angel, Dark Angel, Roswell, X-Men, Witchblade and Birds Of Prey fic that I've ever read. So I want you guys to show me the same courtesy. Please. This is my first fic EVER, and I need all the encouragement I can get. Now we can do this the nice way, or we can do this the hard way.  
  
A/N2: I'm writing an Alias fic because I just can't stand the way that Alias has been lately. Vaughn and Sydney should be together, FOREVER! And Lauren should be dropped off a nice cliff somewhere and never heard from again. J.J Abrams won't even let us hate her. The least he could have done was made her a bitch. But no. He says that that would be "childish and immature and not in the show's best interest," etc. What would be in the show's best interest would be to put Vaughn and Sydney back together, hello! I think I actually heard the collective gasp at approximately 9:54 PM on the night of the second season finale, and I was too busy screaming, so it was pretty loud.  
  
A/N3: OK last author's note and then I'll get to the story. This particular fic is just to blow off some steam because I'm a very busy college freshman and I just NEED to write something besides a class paper. I'm currently writing two other Alias fics that will be much better than this one, and I will post them whenever my professors decide to give us poor students a break, which isn't likely any time soon. But I'm making time for this one, b/c, like I said, I just need to write this. Also, I posted this fic a while ago on ff.net, but I'm reposting it b/c I thought of a few improvements. And b/c I'm hoping for a few more reviews than I got the first time.  
  
Disclaimer: If it walks like a J.J. Abrams, and it talks like a J.J. Abrams, then it's probably J.J. Abrams, the guy who does own Alias. I don't own Alias and I never did. So I am therefore not making any money off this fic. Please don't sue. Suing me would be a waste of your time as well as mine b/c I'm a poor college freshman. And furthermore, if I did own Alias, then believe me, there would be a whole bunch of very happy Syd/Vaughn fans out there. On with the story. Enjoy!  
  
The Dangers of Boredom  
  
Jack Bristow walks into the CIA building on Monday morning.  
  
Jack (muttering to himself): Another boring day at the office. Another day full of endless meetings with those stupid pricks I work with. I never should've become a spy. I should've listened to my father when he told me to play professional baseball. Maybe then I would get the admiration and respect I deserve from the public. I save the world on a daily basis, but do I even get a 'Thank you, Jack?" or a "Nice job, Jack." Nope. Instead they just say, Piss off, Jack, and don't bother me anymore!" Well, see if I help them the next time something goes wrong on a mission and they're in mortal peril.  
  
As he passes the desks of all the agents, he gives them the usual morning glares. If there's one thing Jack Bristow's good at, it's intimidating other people. Noticing that several of the recipients of his glare are wetting their pants, he smiles to himself.  
  
Jack (muttering again): Maybe today won't be so bad after all.  
  
He walks into the meeting room, where Sydney, Vaughn, Weiss, Lauren, Marshall and Dixon are already seated.  
  
Dixon: Good morning, Jack. Please, have a seat.  
  
Sydney: Morning Dad.  
  
Jack: Good morning, Dixon. Good morning sweetheart. The rest of you can piss off.  
  
Sydney: Now Dad, that wasn't very nice.  
  
Jack: Since when have I ever concerned myself with being nice to anyone I didn't like?  
  
Sydney: Well I was just saying.  
  
Jack (to Dixon): So what do we have on the agenda today? A Rambaldi artifact to find? A Russian satellite to disable? An evil terrorist to torture? What?  
  
Dixon: Actually things are going pretty slow lately. There isn't a goddamn thing to do today.  
  
Everyone is pretty shocked. No one can remember the last time they didn't have a world-in-crisis situation to avert.  
  
Sydney: So what you're saying is that we don't have anything to do today? All right! Maybe now I can sit back, relax, and drink all the margaritas I want! I've been meaning to do that ever since I woke up in that alley in Hong Kong. This day rocks!  
  
Lauren: Don't you think that we should probably look over our files to make sure that there's nothing wrong? America's enemies could be lying in wait to catch us off our guard. I think that we should all stay here today and-  
  
Dixon (interrupting Lauren): Shut up, Agent Reed! No one here, or anywhere that I can think of really, likes you. You are a smelly disgusting person and I think you should be boiling in a vat of hot oil somewhere. In fact, Agent Weiss! I want you to toss her over your shoulder and follow me to the basement where the CIA does all of it's tort- uh, I mean fonduing. Yes, that's it. We can probably find a melting pot somewhere big enough, and maybe even a stick to skew her-uh I mean, give to her so that she can have fondue along with us. You like melting cheese, don't you Lauren?  
  
Lauren: Now wait a goddamn minute! Don't you know who I am? I am Lauren Reed, daughter of Senator Reed, and wife of Michael Vaughn. And neither my father nor my husband will stand for your insolence, not to mention your threatening behavior towards me! Isn't that right, Michael?  
  
Vaughn (caught making googly eyes at Sydney): I'm sorry what did you say?  
  
Lauren (who's currently in the process of being tossed over Weiss's shoulder): Are you just going to let them walk off with me to do God knows what with? Michael, they're going to torture me!  
  
Vaughn: Don't be silly. They just want to include you in their fun.  
  
Lauren: Then why am I being carried off?  
  
Vaughn: Eric and Dixon are just being considerate of your weak ankles.  
  
Eric (to Dixon): Man, do I have to carry her all the way there? She smells like a skunk fart and she weighs about as much as my Uncle Morty after a holiday meal.  
  
Lauren (being carried out of the room and down the hall): Michael! Michael! Michael why the hell aren't you-  
  
Dixon (heard outside the room): Oh shut the hell up! Here Weiss, turn around so that I can shove one of my smelly socks in her mouth. That should quiet her down. I worked through the night and didn't have time to change, so I haven't changed them in two days or so. And even better, I'm pretty sure I stepped in something this morning.  
  
Back in the room, everyone else, especially Vaughn and Sydney are looking pretty relieved.  
  
Jack: I'm very grateful that Dixon did that. Now my daughter will be happy and I don't have to listen to that whining tabozia bagra anymore. Her scratchy voice was wreaking havoc on my delicate eardrums.  
  
Vaughn: So Sydney, you mentioned lots and lots of margaritas earlier. Mind if I join you? I think you and I should take the 11:00 flight down to Tahiti and start getting drunk before that thing gets back.  
  
Sydney: Sounds good to me. I'm just glad that I have the day off from dressing up like a whore and making international terrorists think that I want to sleep with them. Oh, don't forget to pack that box of extra large con-uh, uhm, condiments, because you never know when you might need some ketchup or mustard or something.Yeah.  
  
Vaughn: I'll get right on that. Why don't I meet you at LAX in about an hour and a half? I'll just go book the tickets and pack and stuff. See you there!  
  
Vaughn leaves the room. Sydney gets up and starts to follow but Jack stops her.  
  
Jack: Have a nice time sweetheart. And don't worry. I'll make sure that Lauren has so much fun 'fonduing' that she'll be kept busy for a few weeks. In fact, don't be surprised if Vaughn gets a call that she's MIA.  
  
Sydney: Thanks dad! Oh, if we aren't back in a few weeks, then we're in Vegas. I'll call if I need you to walk me down the aisle.  
  
Jack: I'll be sure to have my tux dry cleaned just in case. Bye!  
  
Sydney: Bye Dad! (She walks out of the room and you can hear her talking to herself down the hall) Let's see. I should probably make a pit stop at Victoria's secret on the way home. Oh, and those handcuffs I kept from the mission the other day might come in handy.  
  
Right about this time Marshall is noticing that he and Jack are the only ones left in the room. This thought doesn't set too well with him b/c he's always been somewhat terrified of the older agent. But then again who hasn't?  
  
Marshall: Well I guess I'll just go off and bug Carrie to tell me the gender of the baby we're having. Or maybe I'll find someone else to talk to and explain the workings of yet another of my nothing-short-of-miraculous techno gadgets, using scientific terms that no one understands and running on and on and on and on. (A/N I really love Marshall. He's so sweet, and I don't think I portrayed him in a good way, but it's the only way it works in my head. Sorry, Marshall fans!)  
  
Marshall leaves the room and Jack is left alone to collect his thoughts. He reclines back in his chair and closes his eyes to rest for a little while. The last thing he can remember before he nods off is that he probably should've told Sydney to pack some sunscreen. But then again, they probably won't be doing anything outdoors anyway.  
  
He wakes up a while later when he notices that Dixon and Weiss are reentering the room. They are laughing and praising each other. Both of them look pretty pleased with themselves.  
  
Jack: So how did things go downstairs? Is Lauren a blob of goo by now? Or even better, nonexistent?  
  
Weiss (putting on an innocent, I'm-an-angel face) Why Jack! What could you possibly be talking about? (Dropping the act) Man! You should've heard her screaming, it was music to my ears. And Dixon here did an excellent job of running her through with the stick. I have to say though that Sydney did the best job. I have never seen skin boil like that!  
  
Jack: I thought that Sydney left a while ago.  
  
Dixon: She did but Weiss caught her on her way out. I had sent him to get some paper towels. Fonduing a person is a realy messy business. I'll have to remember that for next time.  
  
Jack: Next time? I don't think I want to know.  
  
Jack starts to leave and then turns back to Dixon.  
  
Dixon: Did you need something?  
  
Jack: Just an explanation. If there was nothing to do today then why call us all in?  
  
Dixon: Oh that. I just wanted to see if maybe anyone would be interested in going salsa dancing with me. I love salsa dancing but it's no fun if I'm there all by myself. It's a great chick magnet.  
  
Weiss: Chick magnet? Count me in!  
  
Jack: Why not? Just let me stop at home and change. Oh, Agent Weiss? Isn't there something you should be doing?  
  
Somewhere over the open ocean, on a plane bound for Tahiti, a cell phone rings.  
  
Vaughn (disengaging himself from Sydney, whom he had been making out with): Hello?  
  
Weiss: Vaughn. Hey, it's Eric. Listen, Lauren's not going to be here when you get back.  
  
Vaughn (not sounding like he cares): Who? Oh her. Why not?  
  
Weiss: Oh, she had a little accident. Sorry man. You know I tried to save her, but that speeding El Camino just came out of nowhere.  
  
Vaughn: I'm sure you did your best. Thanks for calling.  
  
Weiss: Sure man. Have fun!  
  
Vaughn puts his cell back in his pocket and reaches for his complimentary peanuts.  
  
Sydney: What was that all about?  
  
Vaughn: That was Weiss. Lauren's gone.  
  
Sydney: Bummer.  
  
Vaughn: Oh well. Whatcha gonna do? Peanut?  
  
So how did everyone like it? That wasn't a rhetorical question. Hit the purple button and make the over worked college kid a happy person.  
  
One last thing. I'm not saying that this is my best work. Nowhere near it in fact. But I just sat down and started writing this afternoon and this is what I did. And I kinda like how it turned out. So when you review, AND YOU WILL REVIEW, no flames. As a personal favor to me. Thanks!  
  
One more thing and then I'll let you review. In case any of you were wondering what "tabozia bagra" meant, it's Arabic for "fat cow." I know that Lauren isn't really fat, but it's what I felt like calling her. For future reference, although I am American to the bone, I tend to cuss in French and Arabic. Multilingual cussing is just so damn fun. But I will always include a translation. 


	2. And you thought chapter one was it!

A/N: I got so many nice reviews from my readers. I love that I have reviews for a work that I posted, never having posted anything before. Thank you so much you guys! And thanks esp. to Clover Point, who left the nicest review. Unfortunately for me, I had to write those college papers, so I haven't had a chance to do anymore silly fanfic until now. But hey, I'm getting to it now and that's all that matters, right? As it happens, I'm also a fan addicted to several fics, so I know what it's like when an author starts a fic and then either takes forever to update it, or just drops it altogether, and I honestly don't know which is worse. So I'm not gonna do that to you guys, b/c that's just cruel. Anyway, I wasn't even planning on adding to the first chapter, but the reviews I got just made me want to write more. But be warned: I don't even know right now what's going to come spewing out of my demented, S/V-action-deprived head of mine. It could be anything.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, J.J. Abrams does, Touchstone does and Bad Robot does. Blah blah blah, shoot me!  
  
Distribution: (Chaosti is caught off guard and looks at the audience with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look) Uhh, sure? Just tell me when, where, for how long and how much potato salad will be involved in the process. Never did trust potato salad.  
  
Proceed at your own risk.  
  
The Dangers Of Boredom ch 2  
  
(Somewhere in Tahiti)  
  
Sydney was enjoying herself. She was currently sprawled out on a towel on the sandy beach outside of the hotel, soaking up the sun. Somewhere nearby, her boyfriend was grabbing them some much-needed alcohol, because really, who would want to be in Tahiti on a vacation like this and not have a drink? She spots Vaughn coming towards her, two huge titty glasses full of who-knows-what kind of liquor.  
  
Sydney (sitting up and accepting one of the drinks from Vaughn): What the hell kind of drink is this? I thought we agreed when we got here, all margaritas all the time.  
  
Vaughn: Well, I was standing in line and the person in front of me ordered one of these babies and it just sounded so good that I had to grab a couple. They're called "Sacrificial Virgins."  
  
Syd: "Sacrificial Virgins?" What's in 'em?  
  
Vaughn: Well apparently enough alcohol to make you forget you're about to be tossed into a volcano. (Takes a test sip, and immediately starts coughing.) Oh man!  
  
Sydney (in the same situation as Vaughn): Damn! That stuff should come with a warning label or something.  
  
Vaughn: Syd, alcohol does come with a warning label. You know how when you're standing in line at the ABC store and you have nothing to read so you glance at the back of the bottle and see this little paragraph featuring the words, "surgeon general," "should not consume" and "pregnant?" You know what I'm talking about. Syd: Michael, no one loves a smart ass. Except for me, apparently, and we all know that I can't make any claims at sanity. But damn if these things aren't good. (She takes another sip.) You know, a few more of these and I could maybe be lured up to a hotel room with a married man. Now how horrible would that be?  
  
Vaughn (gathering up Syd, towel and all, and heading in the direction of the hotel): Not horrible at all. In fact, I've been meaning to talk to you about the whole "married" thing...  
  
(Back in Los Angeles)  
  
Jack unlocks the door to his apartment and staggers in, drunk off his ass. He manages to make it into the living room without tripping over anything and stumbles over to the couch to pass out. The last thing that registers in his brain before he passes out is the fact that his couch is lumpier, softer and a hell of a lot more active than it was this morning.  
  
(The next morning)  
  
Jack was dreaming. In the dream he was standing outside under a bunch of trees, hugging Pamela Anderson, who was some kind of superhero. He looked up into the trees and saw a bunch of shadowy figures. He yelled for Pam to get down, and she squealed and spun on her heel to run in the other direction, and in doing so, knocked Jack out when one of her swinging boobs hit him smack dab upside the head. So, when the ninja midgets dropped from the tree branches above his head, he wasn't able to defend himself or Pam from their attack.  
  
Jack: Pam! Get away from the ninja midgets! Use your Laser Boob to knock them out and then fly away and get help.  
  
Unfortunately for Pam, the ninja midgets were just too many in number, and easily overpowered her. Jack decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.  
  
Jack: All right you assholes! I didn't want it to come to this, but it looks as though I have no choice! If you don't release Ms. Anderson, I'm afraid I'll have to put you through a torture technique the likes of which no man has ever come back sane from. That's right, I'm going to subject you to a Barney Marathon!  
  
The ninja midgets started screaming so loud that Jack was sure they could be heard in the middle of a Linkin Park concert. They immediately released Pam and started running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Pam ran to Jack as soon as they released her. To anyone watching, the picture of the pair running towards each other would remind them of the opening credits of Baywatch in which Pam is running down the beach in slow motion. Except that Jack is there running towards her and is in slow motion as well.  
  
Jack (once he reached her): Pam, you're safe! Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you ever again.  
  
Pamela Anderson: Oh Jackie, I was so frightened! I thought that those ninja midgets were going to kill me and I would never see you again. It was the most terrifying two minutes of my entire life! Hold me!  
  
And with that she flung herself into Jack Bristow's waiting arms. However, it seems that fate was not done making her suffer. She had thrown herself at him with such force that she accidentally deflated her boobs, and they got smaller and smaller until they were no longer the size of soccer balls and were now the size of ping-pong balls.  
  
Pamela Anderson: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Not my boobs! Those things cost me thousands of dollars in plastic surgery! And I'm supposed to start filming a television show next week. How am I ever going to get an appointment under the knife and recover in only five days flat! Oh Jack! You have to help me. You could use your super secret agent contacts and find me a doctor pronto. And while you're at it, a damn good makeup artist. Oh, and call my agent and tell him it's a code red! He'll know what it means. He's dealt with this before, he'll know what to do.  
  
Jack's head is beginning to spin with all of Pam's chatter. Not to mention the fact that she has her hand clenched around his upper arm in a death grip, and he's quite certain that if she doesn't release him from her tourniquet- like grip, he'll have to have it removed from lack of oxygen to the blood.  
  
Jack: Pam, you have to calm down! And let go!  
  
The actress's rising inane chatter overwhelms Jack. He starts to sway back and forth, out of sheer dizziness. He is beginning to feel like he usually does after a night of drinking and being mysterious, (which really does take more effort then one would think.) Just as he thinks that the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole he hears a disembodied voice calling to him.  
  
Disembodied Voice: Jack! Jack! Jack! Wake up, Jack!  
  
Slowly, everything goes out of focus, and eventually fades to black. When he comes around again, he finds that he is still on the couch he collapsed on last night. There's just one difference, though. His ears pick up the sound of bacon frying in the kitchen, and the sweet smell of fresh coffee wafts into the living room.  
  
Jack (walking into the kitchen): Who's there?  
  
He rounds the corner into his kitchen and comes to a complete halt. Because standing there making breakfast is the last person he would ever expect to see in a domestic setting.  
  
Jack (completely floored): What are you doing here?  
  
Tbc...  
  
Well, I know that most people detest cliffhangers, I do too. But I've got to at least make an attempt at drawing attention to my fic. If you or anyone you know likes funny S/V Alias fics, please spread the word.  
  
Let's sing a song:  
  
If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review! If you're happy and you know it, oh dear god won't you please show it! If you're happy and you know it, leave a review!  
  
Heed the song. 


	3. Banter like there's no tomorrow!

The Dangers Of Boredom, ch 3  
  
A/N: Well would you look at that? I've finally managed to crank out another chapter. I'm getting better at this. Sorry for the massive delay in updating but at least I didn't take as long between now and the last update as I took between the first and second chapters. I've been busy, though. School's over, so I've been trying to find a job, making fun of my sister who's still in school, sunning myself by the pool, catching up on All My Children and basically just adjusting to my newfound freedom. Plus I saw Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, an excellent movie well worth your time and money, and then turned nineteen on June 5th. So Happy Birthday to me!  
  
A/N2: This chapter is mainly for my amusement and so is pretty much just banter. And when you see a little asterisk () it means that the English translation is at the bottom. If you read the first chapter, which I encourage you to do if you haven't already, then you know about me and my multilingual cussing habit.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If I owned Alias there would be a new episode every day, Michael Vartan and David Anders would always be topless and in every episode Lauren Reed would die a horrible painful death a la Kenny from South Park, (another show I don't own) my favorite method of which involves her turning a sort of grayish-green and sprouting rutabagas from all of her orifices. Sigh those are the good daydreams.  
  
Distribution. Every true Buffy fan will remember this line: "Want. Take. Have." The only part I'm adding in is that you please ask first.  
  
The Dangers of Boredom ch 3  
  
Jack: What the hell are you doing here?  
  
Irina (standing around cooking breakfast like nothing's amiss): Good morning Jack. Breakfast?  
  
Jack: If by 'breakfast' you mean 'explanation of what in the name of hell am I doing here' then by all means. Breakfast away.  
  
Irina: Good to see you to. Hope you're hungry. (She takes a good look at him and frowns.) If I may ask what on earth are you wearing?  
  
Jack (who never changed out of his salsa dancing outfit): I was out last night. Some colleagues and I went dancing.  
  
Irina: You look a tad on the ridiculous side.  
  
Jack (miffed): Well whether I do or not you don't get to comment on it. Now, give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you over to Dixon.  
  
Irina proceeds to lift up her shirt and flash him.  
  
Jack: That's two damn fine reasons.  
  
Irina: Why thank you. Now, how about breakfast?  
  
Jack: Don't mind if I do.  
  
They eat and make small talk for a while and then fall silent for a few moments.  
  
Irina: When are you going to work?  
  
Jack: Pretty soon, actually. You better lay low until I get back from work. Wouldn't want you to disappear now that–  
  
Irina: Wouldn't want me to 'disappear?' Jack, you thought I was missing for over twenty years. Been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt. Might want to rethink that statement.  
  
Jack (a bit miffed): Well you don't have to get snarky about it.  
  
Irina (lifting up her over shirt to reveal a second, tighter shirt): No really. I actually have a t-shirt that says "I've been missing for over twenty years, so give me a cookie.' It happens to be my favorite t-shirt. Fits me like a second skin. Really shows off my figure, don't you think? Although, to be fair, I didn't actually buy it.  
  
Jack: So on top of the whole 'I'm-in-the-business-of-blackmail,-extortion- and murder' you also add clothing thievery to the list? You must have one hell of a business card layout.  
  
Irina (muttering to herself): I'm beginning to remember why I went missing for those twenty years. (To Jack) As a matter of fact, smartass, it was a gift from a friend.  
  
Jack: You have friends?  
  
Irina (sounding a tad desperate): 'Partners in crime?'  
  
Jack: Yeah right.  
  
Irina (even more desperate): 'Subordinates in crime?'  
  
Jack: Fess up. It won't kill you.  
  
Irina (defeated): 'People who I boss around in relation to the performing of crimes?' Jack: That's more like it. Might want to shorten it though. Come up with a catchy nickname.  
  
Irina: Well, whatever but for the purposes of this conversation, not to mention my own sanity, I'm just going to call him my friend.  
  
Jack: 'Him?' Anyone I might know?  
  
Irina: You probably do. It was a gag gift from Julian. For some reason he thought it was hilarious.  
  
Jack. 'Julian?' Doesn't ring a bell.  
  
Irina: Surname sounds like 'lark.'  
  
Jack: Park? Mark? Hark? Bark? Dark? Fark?  
  
Irina: Fark isn't even a word. It's Sark, you idiot!  
  
Jack: You're friends with Sark?  
  
Irina: And this is surprising to you because...?  
  
Jack: Nothing. Just can't picture you and Mr. 'I-Have-To-Have-Everything-My- Way-I-Always -Wear-Armani-Suits-Couldn't-Crack-A-Smile-To-Save-My-Life' as friends.  
  
Irina: You know he's just going by 'Mr. Sark' now.  
  
Jack: Why? Has he undergone any major surgery on his personality lately?  
  
Irina: No, he just tried to fit that on his business card and it didn't really pan out so he thought it might be time to change it. I for one think it's a good change. He was originally going to go with Mr. Salvador Domingo Theodore Velasco Edward Michael Hollingsworth, but with a little persuasion on my part I managed to talk him into 'Julian Sark.' Do you like it?  
  
Jack: The only thing I have ever admired about that man is his aim with a gun. Hits his target nine times out of ten.  
  
Irina (sounding a little proud of herself): I taught him how to shoot you know.  
  
Jack: Did you? You must be very proud of yourself, training an assassin.  
  
Irina: I'm proud of his marksmanship, courtesy of me. At least I never taught him the finer arts of torturing. (Sounding a little confused) He went to a specialist for that. There was this one method that he was really fond of a while back that involved hog-tying your victim, covering him in honey and then leaving him outside an ant hill, but for some unknown reason he would only use that method on men and only on certain parts of their anatomy. Never did understand why.  
  
Jack: Sounds direct and to the point.  
  
Irina: "Well that may be true but there are way more interesting ways to kill a girl than a guy."  
  
Jack: "And why might that be?"  
  
Irina: "You're kidding right?"  
  
Jack: "Oh yeah."  
  
Irina: "My favorite one actually involves a crowbar soaked with napalm. I've always wanted to try that method out on Sloane but alas, he got the sex change operation and the chance went out the window. "Sigh  
  
Jack: You're life is nothing but one tragedy after another.  
  
Irina: I was thinking of writing it all down and turning it into a soap opera.  
  
Jack: Maybe good for a hobby but there's better money in weapons. Or truffles if you can get your hands on them.  
  
Irina: I actually thought of that already but you have to have these huge- ass hogs or boars or whatever to find them and I–  
  
Jack: You what?  
  
Irina: I have pig fear.  
  
Jack: You're kidding right?  
  
Irina: Don't laugh  
  
Jack: Wasn't going to say a word.  
  
Irina: Good man.  
  
Jack: But wait, I've seen you eat bacon and ham and other pork products.  
  
Irina: 'It's all well and good if it comes pre-packaged.' That's my motto.  
  
Jack: Last time I checked your motto was a little more vulgar than that. In fact if I remember correctly it was 'Ma andi mandir biha. Or my personal favorite: 'Life is like a penis. When it gets hard, fuck it.' I believe there were a few more but I'm not going to repeat them.  
  
Irina: That's so sweet of you.  
  
Jack: That I'm not going to repeat them?  
  
Irina: No. That you remembered after all this time. I'm touched.  
  
Jack: You're touched in the head.  
  
Irina: And once again the steamroller that is your personality rears its ugly head and paves right over our little trip down memory lane.  
  
Jack: Sorry. Guess you'll have to take the detour.  
  
Irina: You're impossible.  
  
Jack: Impossibly charming, handsome, the list goes on and on.  
  
Irina: You do realize that you're proving my case for me? If we were lawyers on opposing sides of a case, I would just sit back, relax and let you do all the talking.  
  
Jack (Wistfully): A course of action which I hope you'll be employing some time soon?  
  
Irina: Not likely.  
  
Jack: Didn't think so. I won fifty bucks off a lottery ticket on Monday so I figure my luck for this week is spent.  
  
Irina (Surprised): You play the lottery?  
  
Jack: Every week. Why?  
  
Irina: No reason. You just don't seem the lottery type.  
  
Jack: Exactly what is the 'lottery type'?  
  
Irina: Oh you know. Mid to late forties, not too wealthy and– wait.  
  
Jack: What?  
  
Irina: Something just occurred to me. How on earth did we go from discussing methods of killing to talking about the type of people who play lottery?  
  
Jack: Not sure about that but I am sure that it's somehow all your fault.  
  
Irina: Skut  
  
Jack: It just takes a special type of whacked to follow our train of thought. Also doesn't hurt to have experience with the CIA.  
  
Irina: It does help.  
  
Jack: Are we ever going to get around to talking about why you've suddenly decided to drop by?  
  
Irina: Knowing us? Eventually.  
  
Jack: Eventually?  
  
Irina: Eventually.  
  
Jack: Eventually as in soon-eventually?  
  
Irina: Patience is a virtue.  
  
Jack: And unfortunately not one I possess.  
  
Irina: Oh all right. I'm here to check up on Sydney. She left the country yesterday and I don't know why.  
  
Jack: You mean there's actually something that you don't know about? I'm shocked! I've never known you not to have someone on the inside feeding you information.  
  
Irina (indignant): Jack don't be a tete de bite. Of course I have someone on the inside but his wife chose yesterday to have her baby and he had to rush off leaving me in the dark.  
  
Jack: Well if you must know she and Vaughn went down to Tahiti for some rest and relaxation.  
  
Irina: I assume Mrs. Reed is no longer in the picture.  
  
Jack: Well if she is still in the picture, which I seriously doubt, then she's on the floor in the form of a puddle of goo.  
  
Irina: Do I want to know?  
  
Jack: Probably not.  
  
Irina: I wish I could have seen that. She and her mother always got on my nerves. Prissy bitches that they were.  
  
Jack: How did you know them?  
  
Irina: Every time there was a Covenant mixer I'd see the two of them. Never could hold their alcohol though. Lauren threw up on my Manolo Blahniks one time. Nearly offed her with an Uzi that I just happened to have on my person at the time but at that exact moment I was called up on stage to receive my award for being named Terrorist of the Month. By the time I remembered she was gone.  
  
Jack: So Lauren and Mrs. Reed were Covenant? Huh, go figure. I wish we had known that yesterday, then our little fondue experiment could have been written off on our taxes for interrogation purposes. As it was Dixon had to use all the cheese in the building including a wedge of Brie that I had in the fridge in the lounge. I really was looking forward to that cheese.  
  
Irina: Well look on the bright side. Now you can do the same thing to Mrs. Reed that you did to her daughter and since the CIA will cover all expenses this time, you won't have to give up your cheese.  
  
Jack: I do like the sound of that.  
  
Irina: I just wish that I could see it. I really hated both of them.  
  
Jack: Tell you what. Put on a wig and some dark sunglasses and I'll sneak you in to the building and you can watch from the control room monitor. I'll turn up the volume so you can fully appreciate the screaming.  
  
Irina: Sounds great to me. Let's go.  
  
They both get ready and meet up by the door on their way out. As he grabs his keys from the hook he remembers something.  
  
Jack: I just have one question for you.  
  
Irina: What might that be?  
  
Jack: Did the movie Babe give you nightmares? (Irina smacks him upside the head, hard.) Ow!  
  
Irina: You do realize that you have a hangover?  
  
Jack: No shit, Sherlock! And if I didn't before your little love tap certainly reminded me. So what?  
  
Irina: So I'll be the one driving the car, for safety reasons, you understand. She grabs the keys.  
  
Jack (Horrified): Oh. Shit.  
  
Irina: That's exactly right. Probably not a good idea to piss me off.  
  
Jack (Mumbling): Well I lived a good life.  
  
Irina: What was that?  
  
Jack (Louder): I'm so glad you're my wife.  
  
Irina: I thought so.  
  
Jack (Whispering): Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...  
  
A/N: My therapist tells me that when I get stressed out or unhappy I should go to my happy place. You want to know what my happy place is? Of course you do you're wonderful people. My happy place is a land where everyone owns some type of Jeeps and are therefore smart people, so I won't have to worry about dealing with idiots; there are very hot shirtless guys all over everywhere, all of them very funny and don't smoke or do drugs; and the thing that makes me happiest of all? Reviews. Reviews. Reviews! So please people. Keep me in my happy place. You only have to worry about providing me with one out of three.  
  
Translations:  
  
Ma andi mandir biha is Arabic for "I don't give a shit"  
  
Skut is Arabic for "Shut the fuck up"  
  
Tete de bite is French for "Dickhead" 


End file.
